


Greater Love Hath No Man

by chickxfisher



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur has a panic attack lol, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bottom Arthur Morgan, Character Death, Child Death, Comfort Food, Comfort Sex, Death, Depression, Depression Recovery, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father Figures, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to lovers comfort, Gore, Healing Sex, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Physical Therapy, References to Depression, Stress, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Vomiting, but it will be healing sex!!, loss of family, right before the robbery, slowburn, this is set in blackwater, will eventually turn to nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickxfisher/pseuds/chickxfisher
Summary: Arthur has a hard time dealing with overwhelming emotions, and after collapsing with grief, Mary-beth is assigned to take care of him.





	1. Recovery of a great

**Author's Note:**

> i am SO sorry about my lack of updates!! life is. exhausting. but ill try to keep posting half-assed fics.

He couldn't understand why it had to be a stranger. Surely it would have made more sense if it was an O'driscoll, but a stranger of all the people that Arthur could have pissed off. He wanted to believe this was his doing, that somewhere along the line he had annoyed the wrong person and was now suffering because of it. But no matter what, it just wasn't the situation.

Maybe he could have been there more? Maybe he _should_ have left the gang. Maybe he should have been better-

"Arthur," Hosea spoke, grabbing Arthurs shoulder firmly, bringing him out of his dissociative state. "Arthur. You haven't eaten all day."

Right. It was night, but it only felt like minutes since he had returned from the crime scene. Dirt soiled deep into his hands and fingernails he breathed heavy, "Y- Yeah, I'm. Not hungry."

Hosea frowned, giving Arthur small pat on the back before walking over to his tent. 

Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a match. Hands shaking as tears dropped in the palms of his blistered hands, striking the match against his heel as he brought it up to a cigarette, taking a deep breath as the sweet tobacco burned through his lungs. Hands trembling as he held the cigarette between his fingers, sobbing silently into the cold air. 

Buzzing and swarms of bugs whizzed around his head, drowning out all the sounds and voices. His chest growing tighter and tighter, each puff of the cigarette not making it any better, but the habitual need growing in his heart. 

The tapping of what seemed like drums, as his cheeks grew dry and coarse from the flood of tears running down them in any second he was lone with the thoughts of his recently dead lover and son. His throat closing up as each second passed of this conscious hell he was in, feeling the tips of his fingers burn as the cigarette burned through in what only felt like seconds. 

Throwing it to the ground he got up, brushing his hands against his pants as he paced the small area. kicking small rocks and dust into the air as he huffed heavy. Sweat dripping from his forehead and through his hair as he took off his hat. Waving it as a wan to cool himself down as he breathed hard.

His mind was jumping, blood was hot and running hard through his hands as they throbbed in pain, storming through the red soft dirt he felt the soft touch of someone on his shoulder. Flinching and turning to the person he was met with Hosea and Mary-beth.

Their faces were sunken with worry and guilt as Arthur stood there, frozen but shaking as if he were to collapse. Mary-beth was most hurt, her eyelids were heavy as she spoke, but no words were coming out. Static and buzzing filled Arthurs head as the two talked, and talked as if nothing was wrong. As if they couldn't hear the banging.

Hosea placed a caring hand on her shoulder, and then Arthurs. They knew. Or at least wanted to know more. The guilt and whatever Alcoholic concoction Arthur had drunk in the last hour or two, rose to his throat, breaking from the grasp to run to a nearby barrel he threw up, blood and spit running from his mouth as he sobbed quietly. The soothing sensation of Hosea with his hand to Arthurs back, rubbing it in a circular motion.

Whatever they were saying sounded important, but he could no longer hear them, or his own thoughts. Guts spilling out into the barrel as he hurled, stomach and throat aching as he coughed. Falling to the side as vomit dripped onto his sleeve.

Hosea yelled for help from another person as Mary-beth helped Arthur to his feet, carrying Arthur by the arms to his cot, placing him down as Arthur only cried softly, sitting on the bed he cried harder. Everyone's voices were being drowned out by only could be radio static, the buzzing of a thousand flies filled his mind as he laid limp on Hosea's shoulder. 

Eyes were heavy as he laid down, the faces of his worried friends blurred out from his mind. Reached his hand out to what seemed to be Hosea, he felt as if he was going blind. Was this the end? had he pushed his body too far?

Every second he was awake felt like a knife being slid into his chest, ripping his ribcage apart and playing in the mess as if it were happy to be ripped apart.

Everything went dark, then it didn't.

Gasping heavy as sweat poured from his face, his shirt soiled in vomit and sweat as he coughed.

"Oh, Arthur! You're- I-" Mary-beth ran over, hugging Arthur despite he hadn't bathed in ages. "We thought you were a goner!" She cried lightly, grabbing a cloth from the wooden pail of water next to her she let go of him. Dabbing the cloth against his soiled skin, wiping vomit and what-ever-else had stained him. 

Hosea ran over in a hurry, panting as he smiled. "Oh good, you're awake now." He wiped his brow, standing next to Mary-beth as she wiped dirt from Arthurs's face. 

He thought for a second, trying to muster the energy to speak. 

"How... how long have I-"

"Two days. We really thought you were going to kick it, you should have seen Dutch's face." Hosea laughed lightly, "How are you feeling?"

Terrible. He wanted to die, everything hurt and only hurt more with each passing second, he no longer found a reason to live, nor did he want a reason to die beside his own incompetence to protect his Lady and only Son.

Heart aching, he went numb. Not even feeling the unbuttoning of his shirt to be replaced with a clean one as he effortlessly did whatever he was motioned to. He didn't even feel like sleeping or drinking. He was so empty of emotion that he hadn't realised he was now being ushered to eat, like a child refusing food he relucnatnyl took the bowl and began eating. 

He hated it, but from the comforting smiles and reassurance, maybe it wasn't all too bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD ! AND I STILL CARE ABOUT THIS FIC !!! please take this tiny bit of food as an apology, I promise there's a lot coming ! follow my twitter and dm me if you're interested in being my beta reader or looking for direct updates !

How long had it been? He dared to open his eyes and see himself be buried alive.

It sure felt like he was one foot in the grave anyway.  Opening his eyes to the coolness of the wicker lamps hanging idly on the poles of his caravan, he groggily sat up, feeling his body stiffen—the soft cheers and laughs of his friends and what he considered family at that point.

Family.

He hummed slightly at that thought but stopped as the noise rang low and low in his throat, causing him to cough and hack as he slowly rolled himself to a stand. It was night, and the cool breeze of the overlook they had positioned themselves over, it was calm and quiet.

Until John pushed through the thick atmosphere of his brain, only barely working.  “Jesus Christ, Arthur, you’re not dead!” He laughed, tapping Arthur on the shoulder as he brought him in for a brief hug, but there was worry. It was _The Marston_ way of showing affection.

“Not yet.” He coughed in reply.

“You haven’t eaten in days, now I’d say eat, but then I’d be sounding like the women.”

“Or Hosea.” John scoffed, but in the politest way, only he could do. “Yeah well- where is he anyway?” Arthur slowly sat back down, and John joined, sitting on a smaller table-stool nearby.

“Well, while you’ve been taking it easy-” John teased, again, anyone else would be punched, so Arthur only grunted in response. “Hosea and Dutch took off last night.”

It was silent. But Arthur was expecting a reason why.

“Why?”

“I don’t know! They didn’t say anythin’, Lenny and uh-” John clicked his fingers, wiggling them slightly, “Bill, went with.”

Arthur laughed, heartily, for the first time. “It took you a whole three seconds to remember Bill's name. That, Marston, is a new record.”

“Shut up.” John stood up, pressing down Arthurs hat into his head, covering his eyes with the brim. “Or you’ll wake up in a grave.” He laughed, walking away from Arthur as he too laughed. 

Standing up, Arthur fixed his hat, brushing dust off his legs, he slowly sauntered towards the campfire where only Javier and Karen remained, both sipping a bottle of rum at their hands.

“Ah,” Javier let out a soft noise, “Thank goodness you’re not dead.” Javier perked his head up, the strings of his guitar humming as he put it down.

“Yeah uh- John said the same thing. Evening' Karen,”

Karen grunted in response. Lifting her half-full bottle of rum in the air before taking a swig of it. Javier smiled at Arthur, it was kind, but still a smile from Javier, which could mean a million things.

And a million things that not Arthur, nor his body could withstand, not after last time. 

Curiosity killed the cat, and that cat was Arthur.

“Do you uh..” Arthur scratched his nose, “Know where Dutch, Hosea, Lenny n’ bill went to? John mentioned that they left.”

Javier thought for a second, “Not really. Ah, sorry.” He shook his head, picking up the fancy liquor bottle at his side and taking a small sip. 

Alcohol. That's what Arthur needed right now, god forbid it was his only solace left in the world. His hands were still dirty, dirty with years and years of blood.

But now dirty with the blood of the only woman he had ever loved.

And dirty with the soot and gravel he had buried his son with.

He cleared his throat, “Do you know where Mary-Beth went?”

Karen held up her finger, taking a swig before putting it down. “She’s by the stables.”

Arthur stood up, waving his hand to Karen as thanks as she tossed the bottle to the side, now done with it. 

Slowly approaching the make-shift stables that were propped up, he stopped halfway. Staring at Mary-beth tended to the horses. Mary-beth with her hair down was a rarity, a gem.

Her long brown hair, slowly and elegantly being braided by Tilly.

Mary-beth was a beauty.

A thief. Nonetheless, but a beauty; all of the women were, and there had been moments where he thought about ever being with one. But he felt it in his heart that he’d never be good enough.

Let alone good enough for a girl in the Van der Linde gang; they were all superior compared to him. He only got to where he was cause Hosea liked to pick favourites. 

But he felt the same with his wife, with his son. They were way too good for him, to the point where Arthur almost believed Isacc wasn’t his. He knew he shouldn’t have fallen so hard for a lady that could never be his, no matter how much she preached of requited love.

And It was all too good to be true.

Shaking off his self-doubt, he exhaled hard. He was heading this way to thank Mary-beth for her help, nothing more.  He adjusted his hat and started to approach the ladies, smiling kindly.

Now was not the time to show weakness.


End file.
